Rain
by vampire-ghostie
Summary: It's a typical rainy day in London, and Alfred's bored. Poor Arthur. Platonic USUK with just a sprinkling of cute due to toddler America. Rated T just to be safe on account of Arthur's slight potty mouth.


**Hola! So, this is my first attempt at Hetalia fanfiction. Funny, I always thought my first would be a Prussia/Germany one. Regardless, please enjoy!**

** (And, to the people who read my other stories on here... I'm sorry! Hetalia's kinda taken over my life, story-writing energy included. But, I promise, I haven't forgotten about you all. Let me get through this first semester, and then we'll talk).  
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><p>Alfred Jones was a man of action. As the self-proclaimed "Hero" of the world (much to the annoyance of his fellow nations), he never stayed stationary for long. That said, when the rain of London forced him to remain inside again (for the fifth day in a row), he was not a happy camper.<p>

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Bright green eyes, belonging to one Arthur Kirkland, narrowed slightly as they focused on the blond sitting across the room. Unlike Alfred, he was quite content to stay inside, with a cup of tea and a book for company as he sat by the fireside. He very much wanted to smack the younger man for disturbing his otherwise quiet afternoon, but refrained—he was a proper gentleman, after all.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Making it rain! You knew I was coming to visit, so you used your weirdo magic to make this awful weather!" Arthur's lips twitched in amusement.

"I am flattered you think so highly of my magical abilities, Alfred"—he ignored the derisive snort from Alfred—"but even I don't have the power to control the elements. I am afraid this downpour is quite common here, with or without your _delightful_ presence." Alfred tore his gaze away from the dreary weather to grin cheekily at his former caretaker.

"Aw, don't be mean, Artie. I know you get lonely without me here."

"Yes, Alfred. This house is _absolutely_ unbearable without your loud-mouthed, _rambunctious_ ways." Arthur sighed and marked his place in the book; loath as he was to admit it, he too was feeling a little antsy—though it was likely due to his guest's own restlessness, and not the rain itself. Sherlock Holmes would have to wait another day, it seemed.

"Very well, Alfred. Since you are determined to have me entertain you, what do you suggest?" The American was by his side in an instant, nearly suffocating the Englishman in his embrace.

"You mean it, Artie? You'll play with me?"

"My name is Arthur, you git! And who said you could touch me?" Alfred only held him tighter, practically beaming at Arthur's discomfort.

"No way, dude! I can't have you changing your mind on me!" To Arthur's horror, Alfred picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder, very much like a sack of potatoes. He panicked.

"The bloody hell do you think you're doing! Put me down right now, America, or I swear to God I will go pirate on your arse!" His threats fell on deaf ears, however, and he could do nothing but watch as his former charge opened the door and stepped out into the rain, whereupon Alfred released him. Arthur had a verbal thrashing ready for the taller blond, but made the mistake of looking into his eyes. His beautiful sky blue eyes shone with happiness and innocence, a look Arthur hadn't seen since Alfred was a little colony. Arthur felt the fight leave his body; he hadn't had the heart to say no to Alfred then, so what chance did he have now, 200 years later?

"…You could have at least let me grab an umbrella." Alfred laughed, pulling the Briton into a one-armed hug.

"Live a little, England! It's not like you're going to melt or anything." The American's grin widened. "Or maybe you will; your magic mumbo-jumbo makes you a witch, right?" And, as always, Alfred had to ruin the moment. Arthur smacked the younger nation, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when Alfred actually winced.

"I am not even going to dignify that with a response. Now, you twat, we're standing in the rain without an umbrella. What next?"

"Ooh, let's jump in puddles!" Alfred ran on ahead, leaving Arthur to sake his head in exasperation. World superpower or no, Alfred was still very much the same childish little colony he had raised so long ago. Watching him, England could almost see a toddler America, clothes caked with mud, hopping from one puddle to the next with the happiest expression on his face; Arthur blinked, and the image was gone.

"Come on, Iggy! Don't make me come over there and dump you into a puddle!" Chuckling, Arthur complied and hurried to catch up with his companion—if there was one thing he had learned while raising Alfred, it was that the boy always followed through with his threats.

"You're paying for my dry cleaning!"

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><p><strong>Inspiration for this story belongs to my two best friends. We were outside in the rain one day, and the two of them decided to jump in puddles while I stood back and pretended not to know them. But unlike Arthur, I had an umbrella with me. Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read!<strong>


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